My muse, she will not love me. It’s the truth, she said it so. 

Go ask her now, I bet she’d laugh, and say, “Why silly, no! 

Too much I love the scent of spring, the thrill of that warm air, 

Which brings to me the lonesome ones I trap within my glare. 

 

My heart, it breaks, I do admit, for men I give my time, 

Who think that they can charm my soul with just a clever rhyme. 

They think that they can wrangle me? Ha! Please, don’t make me laugh! 

The Virgin Mary, not for me; I’ll trust The Wife of Bath. 

 

If ever does it come a day in which I find my match, 

Not with love, but my control, will he procure my catch. 

Until that time, I will not sway from words of romanced boys. 

I do not wish to mate with them, I will not match their noise. 

 

Though some might say unsav’ry things and may paint me as cruel, 

I will not change, the fact remains: I only love to rule.” 

She placed these words upon my lap, and she began to part. 

Her soul was blind, she could not see how thee controlled my heart.